Halloween: Retribution of Michael Myers
by FalconerPredator360
Summary: Haddonfield. A small town of a gruesome history and a mental escapee. Michael Myers has finally been captured and re-placed into the Smith's Grove sanitarium. When a new criminal was placed into the cell across from him, will more than just experimental emotions show? Michael Myers X OC
1. Cellular Containment

**A/N: Very first Michael Myers story...not sure if I will add more chapters(supposed to be a ONE-SHOT)...**

Chapter 1: Cellular Containment

"She's in the house! Get 'er out!" I yell to the policemen. We have been tracking down Shylea for so long. And we are so close. We have surrounded the Myers' house and are armed and ready. Don't get me wrong, we've probably over-prepared. Shylea has a criminal record for murdering her family, and some of her neighbors when she was 6. Reported to be seen with a kitchen knife. Just like Michael. The sheriff holds up his fully loaded Glock 17, and kicks the door down. "Put yer' hands up and exit the house immediately!" He yells, the gun shaking heavily in his hands. Silence. I grip my empty pistol. I had used the last of the bullets thinking I could stop her when she dashed into the house.

She had quickly dashed away at the sound of my bullets hitting the ground below her. That's when I realized I have terrible aim. She's now in the house, and the sheriff is going after her. I decide to quickly stride up next to the sheriff as he cautiously walks into the house. "The kids think this place is haunted, Loomis," the sheriff huffs. "Good. That means they won't have the guts to fool around here," I reply, my voice hoarse from yelling at the men to get after Shylea. "Sir," the sheriff says, "Yes?"

"Should I go upstairs?"

"That's what she'd expect us to do,"

"Why would she go upstairs, sir?"

"Because that's what Michael would've done."

I say Michael's name like he's some sort of animal. Because he is. He has no humanly emotions, just nothing. Except for pure, pure, evil. The sheriff turns around at a small creak down the empty hallway. He nervously aims his gun down the hallway, and I look up. I see a young girl, around the age of 19, staring down at us, a small glint of her stainless steel butcher's knife."Shylea!" I yell, and her surprised silver eyes glance down at the sheriff. The sheriff takes aim, and before I could stop him, shot Shylea in the side, and she tumbles down the stairs. Shylea hits the ground at my feet, blood splattered all on the walls and the stairs from her tumble down. She lies unmoving, her face pale and tense. Her unconsciousness is disturbed. We need her alive.

"Where's the ambulance? Get her in there and send her straight to Smith's Grove. The doctors there will tend to her." I instruct, as the sheriff walks out haughtily, and I frown. Too proud of himself. I wouldn't be proud if I were him. Maybe just a little bit. Or maybe not. The medics rush into the house, and lift Shylea onto the patient bed. They take her out into the cold October air, and raise her up into the ambulance. "So sir, would you classify this as emergency patient transport?" One of the medics ask as he strode over to me with a clipboard, the papers blowing around crazily in the shivering winds. "Why would it be emergency patient transport?" "Because you are transporting her to a place that is not the Haddonfield Memorial Hospital." "So? It is still a hospital and the doctors can handle injuries. No, this is not an emergency patient transport." "Yes sir." the medic replies, nodding before running off to the ambulance.

"Sir, you lead the way. Our sirens will be on, so stay in the left lane." One of the medics shouted out of the window before starting the ambulance. I quickly walk to the car, open the window, and start the car. I slam shut the door, and hit the accelerator. Don't worry Shylea. You won't be like Michael. You won't escape. Neither will he.

* * *

I wake up with a hot sweat. They put me out. As soon as my vision clears, I look around. The ceiling has small water droplets dripping quietly with soft taps. I go to sit up, but I am stopped by the sound of chains, and cold metal around my wrists. _Great. Now I'm in jail._ I mentally scold myself. _Good going. That sheriff shot you._ I scold myself again. I look at what I am wearing in the dim light. I am wearing a light blue jumpsuit, that has a tag with my last name, _Brandt._ My head is throbbing, and the temperature seemed to drop significantly within the room. I stand up weakly, using both hands on the cruddy walls for support. My long black hair is in my face, tangled and frizzy.

There is a dark cell across from me, and I grab the cell bars, and peer into that cell. I see a man, in a darker, more like a navy blue jumpsuit, staring blankly at the ground. He is wearing a...mask? A really pale, white mask, and his jumpsuit stained with crimson blood. I clang my cuffs on the bars, and his head snaps up, his cold, icy blue eyes, staring directly into mine, blank and un-human. I mouth words to him, since my vocal chords are messed up and I can't talk. He cocks his head, and suddenly the door across the way opens and a bright light shines in. The man fixates his gaze back down onto the ground, and I struggle to see who it is. "Michael, meet your new companion in the cellular containment, Shylea Brandt." A voice, that sound highly familiar says, and I reckonize that it is Dr. Loomis. Wait...did he just say, _Michael_? As in, _Michael Myers_?! NO way. Please, no. I don't want to have a death sentence and Michael Myers be the one who kills me. Oh, please no!

"Don't stress. I'm sure you both will get along just fine," Dr. Loomis adds, and Michael looks up just slightly, his eyes locking with mine, his gaze almost emitting an evil glare. "The meeting will start tomorrow. You will be let out of your cells to interact with each other under surveillance. You will each receive notepads," Dr. Loomis says before turning around, "See you tomorrow. Trust me, sleep kills." Dr. Loomis half smiles and shuts the door. Michael exits to the shadows of his own cell. I back up, and sit on my bed(bench!), and lie down. "Sleep kills..." I mouth to myself, looking out the single-bared window to my left. The moon is full, and it is three days until Halloween. And I was just beginning to enjoy myself.

What a great cellular containment room.


	2. Nightmares

**A/N: Nothing much but...Shylea's past is just like Michael Myer's just with a few tweaks.**

**Shylea belongs to me, Michael Myers does not. :)**

Chapter 2: Nightmares

_"Shylea! Get down here this instant if you want to go trick-or-treating!" Courtney, little Shylea's sister yells. Shylea ties her long black hair back into a ponytail, and grabs her mask, soon after, running downstairs. "Here's your baggie. Now go out there and have fun!" Courtney smiles, handing the young Shylea a pillowcase. "You're leaving her unattended?" Mr. Jamie, Courtney's boyfriend, asks. "Yes. Now hurry upstairs, Jamie!" Courtney cheers as the young Shylea walks out of the house. _

_Shylea peers into the window, two silhouttes in her sister's room. Shylea walks away in disgust, and walks across the street to her neighbors house. She rings the doorbell with frail hands, and the door swings open and she is met with a smiling face. Shylea holds up her bag and mouths; trick-or-treat! The lady grabs a handful of candy from a basket, and drops it into Shylea's pillowcase. Shylea fixates her gaze on the lady's husband in the kitchen. He is cutting steak, with a large butcher's knife. Shylea quickly half-smiles at the lady, and dashes back to her house, dropping her pillowcase of candy. She slowly walks up the stairs to her house, slowly opening the door, and walks in, heading straight for the kitchen. She approaches a drawer, opens it, and is met with her reflection in the steel blade of a large knife. Shylea picks up the knife, her hands sweaty while gripping the wooden handle of the knife tightly. She proceeds upstairs, but stops when Mr. Jamie begins to walk down the hallway to the stairs. Shylea quickly retreats to behind the wall, and Mr. Jamie hollers a good-bye, and dashes out the door. Shylea then re-proceeds to climb the stairs to Courtney's room. As she reaches the top of the stairs, Shylea realizes that she has a good reason for doing this. What Courtney did was wrong. Very wrong. Courtney promised Shylea that she would carve pumpkins and take her out trick-or-treating, and watch scary movies. But no. She was too busy doing bad things with her boyfriend. And that upsets Shylea. Shylea now opens the door to her sister's room, and walks over to Courtney. "Shylea! Don't look at me that's gross!" Courtney yells, a smile creeping on her face. The smile fades in a snap when she sees the knife slowly raised up. "Shylea! What are you-" Courtney screams, getting cut off by the sudden 3 stabs of the knife. Shylea in pure anger stabs her sister another five times before leaving in a trance._

_Shylea walks down the stairs, and twists the doorknob to the front porch. Shylea emerges from the house, as her parents pull up. Mr. and Mrs. Brandt walk out from their car, only to be met with a masked Shylea, holding a dripping bloody kitchen knife, standing there, in a trance. Her father walks up to her, and pulls the mask from her face, "Shylea?!" her father and mother say, in complete and utter surprise and horror at their daughter standing there with a blank emotion on her face, knowing that their 6-year old murdered somebody. _

_"SHYLEA!"_

I wake up with a hot sweat, and accidentally roll off the bed. I hit the concrete floor with a wham, and recover almost immediately after. A sharp pain in my shoulder hits me in a flash. My hand cuffs only allow me to do so much. I walk over to the bars of the cell, and I am met with a small portion of food on a tray. As soon as I see it, my appetite quickly vanishes. I look over in Michael's cell, and I am nearly scared half to death, by Michael standing there, watching and almost...articulating?...my every movement. I crawl backwards, being on the floor, the ground cold against me. Michael's head tilts, his pale white mask almost the only thing visible in the darkness. The only light is coming from the bared-window in my cell, and I quickly climb onto my bed, me being tall enough to see through the window. I look through, and the weather outside is miserable, cloudy, rainy, and dark.

The door down the hallway opens, and I quickly, on instinct, hop off the bed. "You two ready? Hope y'all are, cause I'm yer' escort and I'm gonna' have to escort ya'," a man with a southern accent walks in, unlocking my cell first. I stand up tall, and walk out cautiously, hoping that this guard won't tazor me or anything. I take into notice how quickly Michael's head snaps up when the guard unlocks his cell. Michael slowly, and intimidatingly walks out of his cell. His eyes lock with mine, sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes are now almost pitch black, yet small sparks of blue are visible. _Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me,_ I pray. Michael just stands there, staring right at me, unblinking. My heart races, and the tension rises. "Alright y'all. This is gettin' weird. Here, er...follow me." The guard says, leading us out of the room. As soon as we exit the cellular containment, a load of fresh air hits me like a tidal wave. Good-bye stuffy cell. At least for now.

The room is large, and open. Some desks and cubicles line the walls, but nothing else but computers and a large 'smart board'. "This way please," the guard says, leading us to a strange door, with a vault on it, and the guard twists the vault three times before it opens. Right, right, left. He drags open the door, and leads us in, and shuts the door behind us. I realize that I am standing next to Michael, and slowly back away. The room is all white, and a few people in lab coats are seating at a long rectangular table in the middle of the room. They were conversing until one of them glances at us and they all go dead silent. _Dead_ silent. "Oh, Mr. Myers, and Ms. Brandt. Welcome. We will just be conducting a few experiments on you two. Small tests, no need to worry. Nothing to do with needles, medication, or anything along those lines. Now please, be seated." A female doctor, which I assume is the second in command, says with a fear-filled smile. Her gaze is heavily focused on Michael Myers like he is a monstrocity, a creature. Psychopathic, mentally disturbed killer. In a way, Michael and I are...similar.

"Michael, here is a notepad. Shylea, here is a notepad also. You both can write notes to eachother for communication. Understand?" The female doctor instructs, and I just glare. I can tell already that we're not going to get along. But, I don't care. The doctors leave, except for two guards, and they leave to a separate room. This reminds me an awful lot like an interrogation, but it isn't. I know they're watching from behind that mirror. I grab one of the pens, and write down a question for Michael.

_Why are you still here?_

A few moments passed since I showed him the question.

_Because I let them._

I stare at Michael's pad with confusion. I then write:

_Let who do what?_

I show him the notepad. He quickly writes down something.

_Let them capture me. It was a plan._

_A plan to do what?_

_A plan to finally get my revenge._

_You know that they're going to collect these pads, right?_

_Yes._

_Then why are you telling me this if you know full well that they could probably send you to a even more maximum security sanitarium?_

_Because you asked._

_Very funny. So, why do you even bother writing this?_

_Because I haven't communicated with a person I haven't killed yet._

_So, if you escape, you're going to kill me?_

_Maybe._

_You're too nice._

_Really? According to Loomis..._

_WhO CARES ABOUT LOOMIS. I HATE HIM FOR RUINING ME._

_I can understand that._

_Oh, really?_

_Yes._

Our conversation ended abruptly with the same female doctor walking in, and collecting our notepads. As soon as she reads, _'I let them capture me, it was a plan_,' the doctor nearly screamed, and the guards pinned Michael to the wall. I yelped to myself, and the guards throw Michael to the ground and I stand up. "No," I mouth, trying to get their attention. "No!" I say, my voice quiet. The guards are trying to knock Michael out. They are punching him in the face, and Michael seems to be deflecting them all. "MICHAEL!" I manage to scream, and the guards, startled, back off. Michael quickly wraps his hand cuffs around one of the guards' neck, twist his wrists in order to tighten the chain. The other guard stands in awe at how quickly Michael did that. Michael briskly tightens the chain, and a sickening snap fills the air. He untangles his chain, and the guard falls to the ground, his neck red and extended from the normal length. The other guard bangs on the door for help, and I spot a key for my hand cuff in a compartment on the table. Somebody must have forgotten them.

I pick them up, and unlock the cuffs. They fall off, hitting the ground with a loud clink, and Michael's head snaps around, and his eyes show that he's..._smiling?!_ The way his eyes sparked at the fact I had found a key and managed to get my hand cuffs off in a matter of seconds, definately showed a smile. But, why was he smiling at me? Suddenly, a loud bang fills the air, and smoke emerges from behind Michael's back. "Michael?" I mouth, and Michael falls to his knees, the guard now visible behind him, his gun raised. I creep over to the other dead guard, and take his gun while the other guard was fixated on the kneeling Michael. I stand up swiftly, the gun aimed at the guard, getting ready to fire, when a pinch in my neck stops me. Tranquilizer darts...so sleepy...I see a blurred form above me, after I fell. "Dr. Loomis..." I barely say, before my eyes close, and darkness overtakes me.


	3. Remembering The Dead

**A/N: I've got nothing...other than this chapter mentions Laurie... :)**

Chapter 3-Remembering the Dead

I wake up back in my stuffy cell again. I was kind of expecting that, due to the controversy Michael and I caused. I mean...Michael caused. I glance over at Michael's cell. No movement. Nothing. I slowly get up from my hard bed, and make my way over to the cell bars to see better. "Michael?" I hardly even whisper. At least my vocal chords work in some way. Still, nothing. Where is he? I struggle to look down the hallway, but see nothing but the light seeping through the bottom of the door. Some shadows cross it, and the handle twists after a few moments. A figure is shoved in from the door, as the door swings open. It skids, and hits the bars of my cell. I jump back, startled. I look closely. Shaggy brown hair, blue jumpsuit, it's Michael. _Without his mask._ He looks up, his face bruised, and bloody. His _real_ face. His facial features are nothing like I would have expected. I guess I was a little too quick to judge.

"Michael?" I repeat, once again my voice hoarse yet quiet from misuse. "_Yes_..." I hear a low voice coming from..._Michael?!_ Did he really just talk? It must be my imagination...

Michael looks up at me wearily, his icy blue eyes, stained with pain and hurt. Who knew Michael Myers actually had feelings. I reach my hand out through the bars, reaching for his hand, but in a flash, Michael grabs my arm and twists it around and a blast of pain surges through me. "Michael!" Dr. Loomis runs in. Tears well up in my eyes, and I don't want to look weak. My breathing becomes heavier and heavier as Michael stares blankly into my eyes, twist my arm backwards, farther than it should NORMALLY go. "Michael, please, let her go!" Dr. Loomis yells, walking closer to Michael, who doesn't seem to care about anything other than trying to break my arm, or tear it out of it's socket.

_Pain._ Pain is all I can think about. My arms is getting father and farther back by the second. Michael just stares at me, as I look into his eyes, fear-filling me. He has the advantage right now, Shylea. Don't let him use it. I take my other arm, reach through the bars, and punch Michael in the face. Michael falls backwards and a loud crunch fills the now disturbed air. My arm is broken. All the way backwards. I attempt to resist the urge to look at it, but fail greatly. It is twisted backwards, farther than I would've expected, and bloody. '_Aww, no...' _I mentally say. "We're going to put you to sleep, Shylea!" Dr. Loomis' blurred yell echoes through my ears. '_But I just woke up...'_ I mouth, falling backwards as a sharp pinch in my other arm is felt. I glance over at Michael. Rage and terror fills through his eyes. And that's when I realized...he wasn't EVER going to break my arm. It wasn't his fault. It was mine. Michael wouldn't break it, he was just trying to get a point across. The terror in his eyes shrunk, and more of rage flowed through. Several guards try to hold Michael back to toss him into his cell, and they became successful. Michael Myers just gave up. He let his facial expression go blank, and his body goes limp. Several medics are hovering over me, yelling things and ordering things to me I can't quite understand.

Blurry vision, and it feels like deja vu. I close my eyes, and sleep claims me.

* * *

I wake up, once again in my bed, in my stupid terrible cell, only this time, with my arm wrapped up. I sit up, wiping the sweat from my forehead, and stand up. I walk over to the cell bars, and a small tray with food sits down there, warm and waiting for me to eat it. Today, food seems highly enticing. But, I glance over at Michael's cell, who is turned around, on his knees, unmoving. "Michael..." I try to say. His head moves slightly.

"Hey, Michael," I say, but get no response.

"Michael." I say quietly, but my voice a little more stern. Michael turns around, his banged up face almost glowing in the semi-darkness. "Here. You need to eat." I say, holding out a slice of bread to him. He does nothing. Absolutely nothing. "Take it Michael! Take it." I say once again, my voice raising. "I don't want you to die!" Those unintended words escape my mouth. Michael looks at me with a strange expression I don't quite understand. He reaches his hand out, and I hand him the warm bread. Michael retreats back to his corner, and we eat in silence.

Once I'm done, I slide the tray out from under the cell bars. Tiredly, I retreat back to my bed. I sit down on the wooden(and HIGHLY uncomfortable) bed, and everything is peace and quiet. Until now. I hear voices from outside the door down the hallway, and they seem to be talking about me. I quickly stand up, and walk over to the bars of the cell again, and I take into notice Michael did the same also. "We can't let them be together!" One voice yells. "It's the only way we could possibly drive Michael to have humanly emotions!" A voice, Dr. Loomis, yells in return. I glance at Michael, who seems to be staring intently down the hallway. I return my gaze back to the door. "Shylea could be ruined forever if she knew who Michael Myers really is!" The other voice says.

"It's our only choice to possibly save Michael," Loomis says

"Why Michael? Why not save Shylea?" "Because she's not the same. Maybe she could help Michael. Maybe they could relate. Maybe they might..."

"They might what?"

"Possibly, have feelings for each other,"

"I understand where you're going with this, but Michael-"

"Michael can be dangerous, but he could be human like us if he just has someone to understand him." Loomis argues, and I find my gaze locked with Michael's. "Maybe, just maybe, we could relate back to the dead," Loomis adds, before the handle twist and a large amount of light flows in. "Michael, Shylea, we will be taking you to a-" Dr. Loomis says, walking in, but strangely, a growl echoes throughout the room. "Michael?" Loomis questions, and the growl sounds again, this time more guttural. It _was_ Michael. Michael Myers just _growled_ in anger. Loomis walks over to my cell first, and unlocks the cell door. I get ready. I _will _escape. And I _will_ help Michael Myers. He may be a _psychopathic _killer like _me,_ but we can relate like Loomis said. Maybe we could use Loomis. A trap.

I decide to go against choking Dr. Loomis, and walk out. He carefully opens Michael's cell and Michael seems to wearily walk out. "C'mon Mikey why do ya' have to wear that mask all the time'?" Our old escort says. "It's his way of hiding." Loomis answers for Michael, and I'm sure Michael's answer was probably not going to be that. "Shylea, you and Michael will be able to have all day to spend time with each other," "Under close surveillance," I whisper hoarsely. "Yes..." Loomis responds.

"First we will ask some questions for both of you," Loomis says, leading us out the door, and back into that big, open, white room. Instead of leading us to the room we were in a few days ago, (from which I noticed that five days passed within the time period of that incident and me breaking my arm) he leads us into a different room. A room that looks like a school cafeteria, with several other people in there eating, talking, and all in matching blue jumpsuit uniforms. Strangely enough, I am the only girl prisoner at this sanitarium. As soon as we enter, everyone's voices lower noticeably, and become whispers. The whispers stop almost immediately after Michael walks in. "Hey, look! It's the boogeyman!" On of the prisoners, with a Mohawk and several tattoos trailing down is arm, and the most noticeable one is a heart with a little arrow through it, and the name 'Babycakes' lines across it in a strange font.

I'm sure 'Babycakes' won't be to happy when Michael Myers gets to Mr. Mohawk.

"What's wrong Mikey? You want your mommy?" Mr. Mohawk teases. "I killed her..." Michael hardly whispers, yet everyone heard what he said. Dr. Loomis turns around in disbelief.

"I told you," Loomis whispers to our old escort.

"Loomis I think you're the one who needs the mental help,"

"No, Rick. Michael needs it. For the sake of his well-being." Loomis says, signaling for us to exit. I begin the walk out, the cuffs around my wrist causing small rashes. I stop, _Where's Michael?_ I think. I turn around to see Michael, with a small knife, looking down at the ground. "Michael?" I barely say before Michael turns around a flings the knife straight into Mr. Mohawk's head. "Michael!" Loomis yells, running back towards Michael, who turns around, and Loomis stops. "Rick, gather the medics. I'm sure Jack here will not make it." Loomis orders, and Rick nods. _Jack. _I say his name through my head. I glance over at his name tag, it reads, _Benton._ So, Jack here, will never see this 'Babycakes' again.

* * *

We are seated at a rectangular table, Michael Myers sitting across from me, and Dr. Loomis at the end of the table. In front of Michael and I are notepads. If Michael writes first, he gets to ask the first question, if I write first I get to ask the first question. Michael, doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with the notepad. So, I decide write first after five minutes of staring down at the blank notepads.

_Michael, why are you here? _I write, and show Michael the notepad. After a few moments, he jots something down, and shows me the notepad.

_Because I murdered several people, along with family members._

I stare at Michael, and suddenly a connection was made.

_That's why I am here also._ I write down.

_And you're happy?_

_I never said that. It's just exciting to know I'm not alone. _I write, and a long silence fills the air. Dr. Loomis watches us both intently, eventually every once so and a while, writing things down on his own clipboard.

_Fine. I just want to get out of here, and get my revenge._

_I can understand that._

_Sure you can, Michael._

_I've had to go through that before with my youngest sister._

_You did?_

_Yes. She loved me like I would've never expected. She loved my for who I was. But, her love wasn't affecting me at all. I didn't feel it. But, I saw it in her. She...Laurie Strode...before she fell to her death, had kissed me goodbye. It was a strange feeling because I had never had a sister want to kill me AND love me at the same time. I don't see how she couldn't have lost her sanity..._

_Laurie Strode was your little sister?!_

_Yes..._

_She was my babysitter!_

_She was?_

_Yes, she was. She babysat me when I was younger. She disappeared from time to time, and then, when I got a lot older, I never heard from her again!_

_Well, now you know where she went._

_She's dead._

_Yes._

_You killed my babysitter._

_Yes._

_You cold-blooded...ruthless...and to think I actually thought I would help you escape!_

_You did?_

_Yes!_

_You are a crazy girl to even think I would spare you._

_You are just...evil. I now know why Loomis refused to see you as a human. He constantly reffered to you like you were an animal!_

_Yes, I know. _

_You seem to know everything!_

_Now, now. Don't get angry._

"STOP IT!" I try to scream aloud. Anger strides through me. "I hate you!" I try to yell. Dr. Loomis stands up as I slam my fists down angrily on the table. Michael looks at me with a look that nobody would be able to comprehend. Dr. Loomis leads me out of the room against my own will, and tears well up in my eyes. Why? Why is Michael so evil? Why doesn't he _care?_ Michael stares blankly at the table, and Dr. Loomis leads me out the door, and down the hallway, back into the stuffy cellular containment.

_Don't worry, Laurie. I will remember you._ I think to myself, as Loomis locks me into the cell. I don't want to see Michael again.

I really _don't_.


	4. Halloween

**A/N: Got nothin'...**

Chapter 4: Halloween

I wake up to the sound of giggling far away. What is going on? Had I slept through the day? Probably...

My thoughts are disturbed by loud clanking sounds. I sit up abruptly, and get out of bed, heading towards the cell bars. I peek into Michael's cell, but I am met with darkness. "Michael?" I say, a slight fear filling my quiet voice. The cell is locked shut, and the moonlight barely lights up the cell. Nobody's in there. Where'd he go? Loomis probably wanted him to test...

_Or maybe he escaped,_ I let that terrible thought creep into my mind. _If he did he's gonna kill me..._I think again, scolding myself shortly after. "Michael?!" I try to yell. No response. Just..._silence._ Now I greatly dislike the silence with the possible situation where either Michael had escaped, or Loomis took him out. I look down the hallway, and a small note posted on the door is barely legible to my eyes. I squint, the hallway not being that long, and I finally make out what it says.

_Halloween._

That's it? Today is Halloween? Well, I guess I have been looking forward to this day...But, _wait._

_This is the day Michael Myers rules Haddonfield. _

Oh, crud...he really _did_ escape...or did he? I don't know. Wait, _why do I care?_ I shouldn't. I mean he _was _going to kill me, but..._he didn't_. I listen closely due to the fact of hearing loud yelling outside the door suddenly. The yelling originates from several voices, with only one I reckonize. Dr. Loomis...maybe Rick...

"She is now unsafe, Loomis!"

"How? How did he escape, Loomis?"

"Loomis lives are at stake!"

"What's going to happen now?"

"Yeah, what's going to happen since Michael has _escaped?!"_

He did escape. I huge knot forms in my stomach. _No._ He can't! I hear a small creak down the other side of the hallway which contains more cells, and the light never reaches all of the way down there. "Hello?" I say, my voice cracking from...fear. I hear loud footsteps, inching closer and closer to my cell. Once it gets to the focus of the moonlight from outside on the ground, I see his mask. His pale, white mask. The glint of his butcher's knife in the moonlight.

How he'd managed to escape, I don't know. It's the overwhelming fear filling the situation now, as Michael stands in a pool of moonlight, his icy blue eyes tearing through mine. Little giggles are heard from afar, from the young trick-or-treaters.

_"Let's check the cellular containment,"_

_"Surely he will be in there," _A voice says sarcastically.

_"Yes sir,"_

The door handle twists, and Michael remains still, his grip noticeably tightening on the knife. The door swings open, and men with large shotguns charge in. Still, Michael remains unmoving. "_THERE HE IS!" _One of the men, with a fully loaded sniper, yells. Fires and bullets richocete off the walls, and a few just barely miss Michael. Michael barely moves as three bullets tear through him with a sickening sound fills the air as Michael falls to his knees. Some bullets bounce off the walls, and fly into my cell. I retreat to the darkest corner of my cell, screaming silently, unable to watch this happen. The blasts, the gunshots, the _blood_...

_"Shylea, get the heck outta there!" Derek, Shylea's best friend, yells. Derek and Shylea, are thieves in order to survive. Shylea's only supporter. Loud gunshots fill the air as Shylea grabs the last necklace from the case, and dashes outside. They meet up on the sidewalk quickly before the two twelve year-olds sprint off in fear of the echoing sirens. Gunshots fill the air causing the two to run faster. 'No, no, no, no, no!' Shylea thinks as she runs. The gunshots get closer as they run. A terrible tearing sound fills the air, and Derek stops, dropping his bag of stolen jewelry with a loud clink. Shylea turns around, to be met with Derek, lying on the concrete, in a puddle of his own blood. "Derek!" Shylea mouths, and Derek groans in pain. 'Derek was shot' Shylea keeps thinking. "Run, Shylea...Run" Derek says, his last words before policemen dash after him. Shylea sprints off, dropping her bag of expensive jewelry also. _

_"Run, Shylea...Run," _

Those words burned into my mind, scarred memory, taught me how to use revenge. I stare at Michael, who is know on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, unmoving. Triggering more scars, and crawl to the cell bars, my face wet with tears. "He's dead!" One of the men yell. "No he's not! He's still breathing!" Dr. Loomis yells. "Ya, sure doc," The man says, moving towards Michael. "He ain't movin' and he ain't breathin' doc!" The man says, flicking Michael in the face. "See look he ain't-" The man gets cut off suddenly by Michael quickly raising his knife to the man's neck while he was distracted. A quick spurt of blood splatters on my face. I screw my eyes shut, and I feel a quick brush on my hand, and my eyes fly open. Michael is standing there, face to face, his icy blue eyes now full of..._concern?_ The men run off quickly, screaming. Dr. Loomis stands there, observing the situation.

_See, Loomis. Michael does have emotions. And, don't mess with Michael on Halloween._


	5. Halloween Part Two

**A/N: HAPPY (not) HALLOWEEN! Lol :D**

Chapter 5: Halloween Part Two

_"Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck_  
_Some nights I call it a draw_  
_Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle_  
_Some nights I wish they'd just fall off_

_But I still wake up, I still see your ghost_  
_Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for oh_  
_Whoa oh oh (What do I stand for?)_  
_Whoa oh oh (What do I stand for?)_  
_Most nights I don't know anymore..._  
_Oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, oh,_  
_Oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, oh_

_This is it, boys, this is war - what are we waiting for?_  
_Why don't we break the rules already?_  
_I was never one to believe the hype_  
_Save that for the black and white_  
_I try twice as hard and I'm half as liked,_  
_But here they come again to jack my style_

_That's alright (that's alright)_  
_I found a martyr in my bed tonight_  
_She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am_  
_Oh, who am I? Mmm... Mmm..._

_Well, some nights I wish that this all would end_  
_'Cause I could use some friends for a change._  
_And some nights I'm scared you'll forget me again_  
_Some nights I always win, I always win..._

_But I still wake up, I still see your ghost_  
_Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh_  
_Whoa oh oh (What do I stand for?)_  
_Whoa oh oh (What do I stand for?)_  
_Most nights I don't know... (oh, come on)_

_So this is it. I sold my soul for this?_  
_Washed my hands of that for this?_  
_I miss my mom and dad for this?_

_(Come on)_

_No. When I see stars, when I see, when I see stars, that's all they are_  
_When I hear songs, they sound like this one, so come on._  
_Oh, come on. Oh, come on. Oh, come on!_

_Well, that is it guys, that is all - five minutes in and I'm bored again_  
_Ten years of this, I'm not sure if anybody understands_  
_This one is not for the folks at home;_  
_Sorry to leave, mom, I had to go_  
_Who the heck wants to die alone all dried up in the desert sun?_

_My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she call "love"_  
_When I look into my nephew's eyes..._  
_Man, you wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from..._  
_Some terrible nights... ah... _

_Oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, oh,_  
_Oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, whoa, oh, oh_

_The other night you wouldn't believe the dream I just had about you and me_  
_I called you up but we'd both agree_

_It's for the best you didn't listen_  
_It's for the best we get our distance... Oh..._  
_It's for the best you didn't listen_  
_It's for the best we get our distance... Oh..."_

**MICHAEL**

I stand watching. Waiting, for Loomis to make his move. His gun is raised, and I know where he is aiming. But, where his aim is, will only maim me. Nothing can stop me. This is my day. My Halloween. My Haddonfield. I glance quickly at Shylea behind the bars, her eyes screwed shut, and small, crystal-like tears trailing down her cheeks. I sense her fear...but, I am more focused on getting to Haddonfield, and not having Doctor Loomis constantly get in my way. How come he survives everything? Maybe I have become too soft... I won't let softness get to me. And Shylea doesn't really matter in my book. Wait, but why does she care for me in some way...? Ah, forget it, Michael. Who would appreciate a terrifying man like me.

_Laurie did, _I remind myself. Why are you even thinking of Laurie right now? She's dead. Gone. Dead. Done. Over.

I observe Loomis, his hands shaking, and I walk intimidatingly up to him. He shakes, backing up, out the door, and then runs off, calling the police.

_Minutes._

Time is ticking if I want to escape. I glance back at Shylea, who's eyes are as wide as plates, and showing signs of pleading. Her silver eyes glowing in the semi-darkness of the cell containment hallway. Why am I even thinking twice? I should be gone! What am I doing?! I exit the door, slamming the door shut behind me. I hear a piercing scream, and I just shrug it off, walking away. "MICHAEL!" I hear Shylea's wailing voice. I stop. Nobody has pleaded my name before. I turn my head slightly, but walk off again. She'll escape her own ways. I will escape mine.

* * *

**SHYLEA**

He left me. He really left me. I let the tears I have been holding back for so long, fall. I look over the dead body splayed in the middle of the hallway. The blood splattered all over the walls and in the dark cells. How will I receive my freedom? They never did tell me how long I have to serve for...but, I don't really care. This will be cut short. Very short. I begin to slam my cuffs against the walls in anger, and desperation. Bam, bam, bam, bam! Nothing. I stop to take a few breaths, and quickly go back to slamming my cuffs angrily against the wall. "_No, no, no, no, no, NO!" _I mouth, and scream slightly. I wish I wasn't mute. Life would be so much easier than just sign language communications.

I glance at the lock on my cell. My eyes widen. _They shot the lock off trying to shoot Michael!_ Happiness surges through me, and I break open the cell. Now, for the handcuffs...I kneel down, and search the guard's belt. Keys! I unlock my cuffs, and the cuffs fall to the ground with a loud clink. I smile, closing my eyes, savouring that moment of freedom. _Not free yet, idiot._ I scold myself. I follow the darkness, towards where I first saw Michael when he escaped. After what seems like a half an hour, (it was really just ten minutes, but it felt like a half an hour to me) I reach the end of the hallway. My eyes widen at what is hung on the wall, almost shown with pride.

_Torture tools._

So that's where Michael got his knife from. Of all the times he had escaped from here, he must know the sanitarium like the back of his hand. What idiots, those doctors. Bringing a mental..._not mental_...patient back to the same sanitarium every time. Wouldn't they think he would try to escape again? I mean, he must know this whole hospital like nobody's business. I shake my head, and observe the weaponry. Once again, idiots. Why, if a patient could escape, why would they expose weapons? Idiots. Really big, idiots. So much for a maximum security sanitarium. I hear yells from outside, and I decide to make a quick choice, and go for the supply of butcher's knives. I grab the second largest one, because Michael must've taken the largest. The voices and footsteps are coming down this hallway, and they have flashlights. I dash out of sight, and notice an exit door. It only leads upstairs to the roof. _It's your only choice, Shylea, _I think to myself. I sprint through the open door, _Michael must've left it open, _and run up the stairs. I won't let them ruin my freedom. Like Loomis did. Like my family did. Like everyone did. _Except Michael..._yes! Michael left me here! _But, he didn't kill you,_ I remind myself. I make it to the top, and the door was left open again. And then it comes to me.

_Michael never left through these doors. He never even went down these hallways when he left._

No. No, no, no. He was always one step ahead of me. I step outside, into the rainy weather, it would be pitch black outside if it weren't for those search lights. Policemen rush into their cars, their sirens wailing, and them driving off in separate directions. Being on the roof, my jumpsuit soaked from the rain, in the cold weather, feels great compared to that stuffy cell of mine. I take a deep breath, and I hear a strange sound from behind me, and I turn around quickly.

_Michael Myers._

I stare into his scary blue eyes, longing for the want to kill. I bite back my tears as I back up quickly. "_Please no, Michael_..." I mouth. He walks forward, and I walk backwards. He raises his knife, and I raise mine. Fear, fear, fear, fear, fear. I take a unintended step back, and I slip, not knowing that that was the edge of the building. I fall off the ledge, and catch myself on the ledge of the building. I see Michael's towering body above me. Looking down at me with merciless eyes. My grip is loosing way due to the facto that it is raining.

"Michael, help me! Don't let me fall, please!" I say finally, pleading not to fall to my death on the concrete street 40 ft. below me. My hands slip even more, and Michael just tilts his head, watching me.

My hands give out, and I scream,

**_"MICHAEL!"_**


	6. A Change of Heart

**A/N: Nothing much.**

Chapter 6: A Change of Heart

I fall for a fraction of a second before suddenly an was gasping my arm tightly, and lifting me up. As soon as I get up onto the ledge, and hug him. _Michael Myers just saved my life, _I think joyfully, hugging him tighter. His warmth spreading over me, his body slightly stiffened, and I bury my head into his chest. His soft, but soaked, jumpsuit keeping me warm, and I begin to let the tears fall. _I am so weak. _I scold myself angrily. Michael heaves, and shoves me off, annoyed. The roof door opens, and Michael and I snap around. "GET 'EM!" One of the policemen yells. I dash off quickly, my breath caught in my throat, my heart longing for freedom. I don't stop to look for Michael. But, I do stop to look that I have a huge jump ahead.

The building has a large gap in between, and if I want to escape, I need to jump. Jump. Or, I could just turn myself in. I close my eyes, blocking out all of the yelling from the men behind me, everything becoming blurs, and slurring of sounds around me. The cold rain taps my face somewhat forcefully, and I grip my butcher's knife tightly, my grip sweaty and wet. I gulp deeply, pondering. It would be highly..._courageous._ Now that's not a trait I have ever thought of, but it suits this moment well in my mind. I am not even shaken anymore by the thought of death. Not at all.

So, that's what I do. I sprint, air rushing against my face, turning my cheeks red, almost burning, my hair blowing back like crazy, and...

_Jump._

The single fraction of a second, the feeling of what its like to fly, and an overwhelming joy mixed with fear. I screw my eyes shut, not caring if I prove death wrong or not. I hit the other side hard, and I roll across the roof uncontrollably. Once I stop rolling, I turn onto my back, breathing heavily, and silently laughing, the raindrops plopping down on me. _I...I made it._ Take that death! The guards stand in awe at the other building. One of them aims their shotgun at me, and my eyes widen as I shoot up. The head officer, points the barrel downwards, and sighs. "Let her go," he says, walking off. The group of men following closely behind. The man with the shotgun takes one last look at me, and shakes his head, unbelieving.

I do a strange little dance of happiness, and I literally scream. This one echoed loudly, and it was filled with sheer happiness as I throw my arms up in the air.

_I made it, Laurie._

_I made it, Derek._

_I made it, __**Michael.**_

I think of Michael's name like it's an inspiration. I smile widely, and I spot Michael across from me, on the other side of the roof. I want to hug him again so badly, but I remember what happened earlier. Michael walks towards me, the sirens no more, yelling stopped, and the only thing heard is the raindrops falling down. Michael finally approaches me, and tilts his head, his icy blue eyes looking into mine with pure, pure..._admiration._ I smile, seeing his expression. "We're free, Michael..." I hardly whisper, a grin playing on my face. "Have you had a change of heart, Michael?" I say, looking into his piercing..._handsome..._eyes. I get the urge to want to take his mask off. I reach up to his mask, and just before I could grab it, he grabs my hand, and throws it away. My happiness quickly vanishes at that point.

"Michael?" I ask, curious as to why he won't let me take off his mask. His eyes become dark again, and he turns away, slipping up his mask, wiping his eyes, from what I could see. "What's wrong, Michael?" I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder, and his body shakes. He turns around, a small voice in my head saying, '_Nothing. No feeling in my heart, Shylea. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all...I feel nothing.'_ I shiver at the amazing male voice. Michael just stares at me. No way it could've been him. He takes out his out his notepad, and he quickly writes something down, the paper stained with water. I reads,

_It was._


	7. Captured By A Man Named Mister Death

**A/N: Sorry for such short chapters, I don't have a lot of time to post.**

Chapter 7: Captured By A Man Named Mister Death

_"Buffalo Bill's_

_defunct_

_who used to_

_ride a watersmooth-silver_

_stallion_

_and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat_

_Jesus_

_he was a handsome man_

_and what I want to know is_

_how do you like your blueeyed girl_

_Mister Death?"_

I wake up in a large family room, on a strange, rugged, old couch. I sit up, my head throbbing, as I realizing I sat upwards too quickly. I put my hand up to rub my head, but a warm liguidy-substance seeps onto my hand. I quickly bring my hand down to eye level, and see my crimson blood glowing in the moonlight from the roof above. Michael must've hit me. Must've knocked me out. Why would he do that?

_He's a serial killer, you idiot._

I scold myself. Man, I've been doing a lot of scolding lately. Maybe, I've been too self-centered? Maybe so, but that is none of my concern at the moment. Now, where's Michael? And, where am I? The body of the house doesn't look so good, the paints on the walls all ugly and battered up, pictures crooked and cracked, wallpapers torn, stairs with holes in them, and the roof with gaping holes allowing the full moon's light to creep in. I sigh, causing my head to throb again. This whole place is dilapidated. I crane my neck to the side, rubbing the back of my sore neck(which I figured would be sore due to the fact I was sleeping on a couch, so I could've been in a awkward position), and I spot something red on the walls. I get up, stumbling to the railing of the stairs, I fixate my gaze onto the wall. It reads:_ Mister Death. _And just to the right, it reads: _Samhain._ A Celtic holiday, and/or Halloween if I remember correctly. And just to the right of that, it reads: _Michael Myers...(_and barely visible to me) _Boogeyman._ Hmm.

I literally jump at the sound of an echoing creak behind me. I slowly turn myself around, and when I reach a whole turn, nothing awaits me. '_Hmm. This house is old. It must make noises all the time'_ I think trying to reassure myself. I turn back around, and literally scream. In fact, I _did_ scream.

"MICHAEL DON'T DO THAT!" I whisper-yell at him in surprise, and he doesn't do anything but stare at me coldly with his icy blue eyes. Something tells me in his gaze, that something isn't right. I give him a look like, '_What's wrong?' _and his stare goes back to a blank, emotionless look. I give him a more stern look...like that'll ever work...and question him with a certain gaze again. Still, no response. I decide to take all the energy I have, and ask: "Michael, why do they call you 'Mister Death'?" I ask ever-so-innocently. He gives me the look that expresses, '_You should know that,'_ and I nod. "Why am I here?" I question again, awaiting a response. He stares at me, and I feel my cheeks get hot. My heart beats faster, and I feel my cheeks get rosy red. Aww crud. Not now. He cocks his head to the side, and I try to hold back a girly giggle. What is WRONG with ME?! I am never, I repeat, NEVER, like this. What do I have for Michael? He's a freaking serial killer! What is wrong with me?

'_Your in my house, the Myers' house. I am your captor. Now don't make me regret not putting you on chains.'_

A notepad that was shoved into my face, reads. _Thanks, Michael._ The sarcastic voice fills my thoughts. _I really needed a notebook flippin' shoved into my face._ I growl, and Michael backs away.

_Wait._

It all of the sudden came to me like a tidal wave at Japan. Holy guacamole. He just backed off when I growled! I grumble again, this time on purpose for a test, and he backs up even more. I begin to walk towards him, muttering strange things under my breath, and creating high pitched sounds with my un-used voice. He cups his hands over the ears of his mask, pressing his hands tightly against them, as if it were a high pitched shrill. I back him up into a wall, and close in on him. I hear his now, un-steady breathing, more like heaving, through his mask. I look at him, his eyes pleading for me to stop. Wait, he was _pleading_?! I place my hand on his shoulder and he shakes for a quick second, and shoves me hard across the room, into a wall. My head hits the wall with a loud bang, and it begins to bleed and throb again, causing me to become dizzy as Michael's ghost-like form trudges over to me. Now, all I can see is his scary blue eyes, piercing blue eyes, and these words from a poem I once read, echoes through my head.

_"How do you like your blueeyed girl_

_Mister Death?"_


	8. Need My Sanity

(So sorry for not updating...)

Chapter 8: Need My Sanity

I wake up, on the rugged couch. Again. My head throbbing with pain, and wrapped up. A fire is lit in the fireplace, casting eerie flashes of red and yellow on the peeling walls and roof. I look around, wondering where Michael went. But then it occurs to me-I could escape. I quickly get up, my body sore, and my heart thumping like a freight train. Then it occurs to me that it wasn't such a good idea after all. Retard. 'Okay Shylea, think...' I try to think hard, but I think when Michael threw me across the room, he broke my brain.

I feel like shit, and I need to get out of here. I need food, I need water. I get up, using the walls for support, one hand on the wall, the other on my head. I begin to trudge towards the door, my head hurting more. Finally, reaching the door, I grasp the handle with weak and frail hands, and twist it, surprisingly, it being unlocked. I open it, the door making a loud creak that echoed hroughout the old house. I quickly head outside, the cold sending shivers up my spine, and the wind blowing my black hair in my face. I head forwards, into the deserted streets, to the house across the way. The lights there seem way more welcoming than the Myers' house...

As I am making my way across the street, headlights appear down the way, and I am pulled back quickly. I hit the ground hard, and spot a figure next to me, a bright glint shining in my eyes. "Oh my god! Are you okay?!" I hear a voice ask, panicking. I try to re-focus my vision, and I see a blurred figure looming above me.

"This guy in a Michael Myers costume saved-" the voice gets cut off by a sudden gag, and the releasing of a knife on flesh. Michael. I sit up, and see that infamous white, pale, emotionless mask gazing right at me with the blackest of eyes...

"M-Michael...please don't k-kill me,"


End file.
